Hailey Lind [Annie Kinca

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ments. It was a long shot, but I didn t trust Pascal. Together
Evangeline and I draped the cloth and arranged the folds
until the ersatz Head and Torso was shrouded.
Is this what you ve been working on? I asked inno-
cently. It s very nice.
120 Hailey Lind
I, uh, she stammered. Nah, this is an old sculpture in
for repairs. I help Pascal wid de repair stuff.
Oh? Can I ask you something? Is there something
wrong with Pascal s hands?
Ya mean like deformed?
No, like arthritis or something, I clarified. Maybe he
takes some medications?
He seems okay when he s workin , she said. Onliest
thing I ever seen him take was a little blue pill once in a
while.
Lord, I hoped that was not Viagra. Now, Annie, I scolded
myself, don t be closed-minded. Maybe Evangeline was
Pascal s mistress and I had stumbled into their love nest.
Maybe Pascal was into big, beautiful, steroidal women,
and Evangeline was into old, ugly, rude men. Maybe Pas-
cal had not returned Head and Torso to the Hewetts be-
cause he wanted to offer the fruit of his youthful genius to
his one true love, the fair Evangeline.
Said maiden was vigorously cleaning out one ear with a
pinky finger, her eyes crossed.
Do you sculpt, too? I asked, averting my gaze.
Um, yeah, sure. Mostly I do repairs with Pascal, she
insisted, her face reddening. She fidgeted with a chisel and
avoided my eyes.
I wondered why she felt compelled to lie. The best way
for a new artist to learn to sculpt or to paint was to work
with an established artist; this had been true in the days of
the Old Masters, and it remained so today. So why had Pas-
cal denied having an assistant?
Silence descended as I groped for a way to get her to
spill Pascal s secrets.
You want somethin to drink? Evangeline offered. A
Coke or somethin ?
Yeah, thanks. A Coke would really hit the spot.
SHOOTING GALLERY 121
I like Pepsi better, she confessed. But Pascal said he
can t work without Coke, so that s what I bought. But then
he started complainin it wasn t sweet enough. Geez.
She disappeared behind a small partition separating a
kitchen area from the rest of the studio, still grousing about
the Coke versus Pepsi challenge. I took her absence as tacit
permission to snoop and sidled over to an old-fashioned
rolltop desk. Surrounded by cardboard boxes labeled by
date in a bold handwriting, the desk was covered with a
jumble of envelopes, folders, and bureaucratic whatnot in
imminent danger of spilling to the floor. On top of the
tallest pile were several pink invoices from the Mischie-
vous Monkey Garden Supply. I recognized the name be-
cause last spring I had unleashed my arsenal of
faux-finishing tricks to transform a truckload of their
cheap cement statues into quaint old garden ornaments.
But Pascal lived on the third floor of an industrial building
surrounded by an asphalt parking lot. What would he need
from the Mischievous Monkey Garden Supply?
Still, considering some of the artistic personalities I had
encountered over the years, it could be just about anything.
Maybe Pascal was experimenting with peat moss sculp-
tures. Maybe he was indulging a lifelong passion for
miniature bonsai trees. Maybe he liked to run his toesies
through mounds of soft white sand.
Evangeline was vigorously chipping ice in the kitch-
enette, so I took a chance and picked up one of the pink
sheets. It was not an invoice. It was a receipt for the deliv-
ery of ten plaster garden statues.
That was odd. Pascal s marble sculptures commanded
top dollar from the best art galleries. Why would he be
sculpting cheap plaster statuary for a garden supply store?
Evangeline appeared, carrying two large tumblers filled
to the brim with chipped ice and cola. Here s mud in your
122 Hailey Lind
eye, she said handing me one, and we clinked glasses. I sa-
vored the cold tingle on my tongue as I wandered around the
studio, studying the maquettes that lay scattered about the
worktables amidst empty containers of Cup o Noodles.
So what s it like to work with the famous Robert Pas-
cal? I queried in an offhand, girl-to-girl kind of way.
Evangeline looked dismayed, slurped her soda, and un-
corked a belch that would have awed my nephews.
Sokay. She shrugged. I like California.
So do I! I said inanely. Where are you from?
Upstate New Yawk.
Did you move here to work with Pascal?
Yup.
Didn t he have a bad experience with an assistant a
long time ago?
Dunno, she said and belched again. Pardon my
French.
I laughed and she joined in.
Suddenly the studio door crashed open and Pascal ap-
peared. Although it was a warm and sunny day he wore a
threadbare green parka with the hood pulled up.
Goddammit! he swore. What the hell s she doing
here?
Hiya, Robert, I replied. I dropped by to bring you
some flowers. I felt just awful about disturbing you yester-
day.
Pascal glowered as he shrugged off the parka and hung
it on a wooden hook near the door. He had not shaved re-
cently, nor, I was willing to bet, had he showered. He
sniffed and wiped his nose with a blue bandana.
Flowers my ass, he snarled.
Crippled hands, my ass, I snapped back.
What do you want from me, girlie?
What doesn t belong to you, I retorted. The Hewetts
SHOOTING GALLERY 123
sculpture. I also want to know why you lied about your
hands.
I lied about my hands to get you off my back, whad-
daya think?
How is my mother involved with you and Seamus? You
were at his funeral, weren t you?
Kiss my ass, little girl, he bit out. And tell the
Hewetts I ll give them their goddamned sculpture when
I m goddamned good and ready.
Evangeline looked shocked, and I wondered if her up-
bringing had been more genteel than it would appear. Mine
had not been so refined, despite my mother s best efforts,
and I stood my ground. What kind of repairs are you
doing, anyway?
Sculpting repairs, he said sarcastically, crossing his
arms over his chest in an age-old gesture of mulish stub-
bornness. I m a sculptor, nitwit. Tell the Hewetts they
have to wait their goddamned turn. I ve got a bunch of
other stuff waiting for repairs. He gestured at a covered
pile of objects in the corner.
See, now, that s something I don t understand. Why do
so many of your sculptures need to be repaired? Do you
have unusually clumsy clients?
I worked in media that were not nearly as durable as
stone, yet rarely was it necessary to repair my artwork.
Barring a Visigoth invasion, how often did marble statues
get broken?
Get lost, he barked. He sniffed loudly again and
turned on Evangeline. Why d you let her in?
She brought flowers.
She brought flowers, he mimicked, waggling his
head. Moron. Why I ever told your mother I d take you on
is beyond me. He looked at me. Sister s kid. Dumb as a
stump.
124 Hailey Lind
I waited for Evangeline to defend herself, but she just
stood there, admittedly rather stumplike, so I spoke up on
her behalf.
Seems to me you re the moron here, Pascal. Don t your
sculptures bring in good money? Why don t you go sit on [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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